


We Match

by Malakia



Series: Naruto Drabbles and Short Stories [5]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Gen, Lots of Angst, Minor Body Mutilation, Pre-Konoha Village, what if Tobirama and Kawarama are twins?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 12:03:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16810222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malakia/pseuds/Malakia
Summary: It felt like he had stopped breathing ever since Kawarama’s death.





	We Match

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by [perelka-l](http://perelka-l.tumblr.com/) who drew [this](http://perelka-l.tumblr.com/post/180691820828/slams-foot-against-the-table-i-just-think-that)

**** It felt like he had stopped breathing ever since Kawarama’s death.

Logically, Tobirama knew he still was since his chest moved up and down with each breath. But he could no longer  _ feel  _ it. Like it was just a force of habit now. 

He didn’t cry when Butsuma had solemnly told all his children of Kawarama’s death. Hadn’t even cried at his twin’s funeral. His mind still had been sharp, but the rest of him had felt  _ numb.  _

It was the kind of numbness that settled deep into his very being. Devoid, without  _ feeling.  _

Tobirama wasn’t entirely sure if he hated it or not. 

It helped when he received news about Itama’s death that he had received not long after his twin’s. Helped him focus when Hashirama was making a foolish friendship with Madara Uchiha. Helped when he trained his sensor abilities, fought in battles, and only saw death around him.

Without feelings, he could compartmentalize everything. Make himself sharp and keenly aware of situations around him. 

He also knew it wasn’t right. 

He knew it wasn’t right because of how his family worried about him. Hashirama always watched him and included him in every little thing he did. Touka would step up her ferocity whenever they sparred, compared to when she fought with other members of their clan. Tobirama paid them no mind at first, but he knew it was a problem when his father started to keep a watchful eye on him. 

He just... couldn’t say what he felt because there was nothing. Tobirama had never been an emotional person in the first place. Kawarama had been the more emotional one of the two of them. But after his twin’s death, whatever little emotions Tobirama had just seemed to go with with the other. 

It frustrated the young teen because he knew he  _ could  _ still feel things. He cared and loved for his clan and family, worried about his brother, and excited whenever he learned a new seal or technique. He could get angry and annoyed. Could experience happiness and sadness. 

He just couldn’t  _ feel  _ it. 

Tobirama sighed softly to himself as he looked at the mirror before him. The candle next to it offered the only light source, though the teen could see dawn’s light coming through the windows of his personal bedroom. The air was cold and still, but Tobirama paid it little mind.

He brought up a hand and rubbed his face. It was smooth to the touch, which was just  _ wrong  _ in his mind since he had fought in so many battles. Kawarama had received his first scars on their very first battle excursion.

He still remembered it too. It wasn’t even a real battle, just a skirmish with a small clan. Still his twin had gotten injured and Tobirama carried him back home. Kawarama had complained the entire way, saying he wasn’t  _ that  _ injured even as he held cloth to his face that had almost been carved open and cried. 

But Kawarama had been so  _ proud _ when the bandages had come off. He sported the scars around with great honor and would tell anyone the story to those who were willing to listen. Honestly, Tobirama had gotten sick of it real quick but he learned to tune it out and let his twin have his fun.

He smiled a little at the memory but then grimaced when he saw it in the mirror. It didn’t look right on his face. On Kawarama it would look right, but on him? He didn’t think a smile would ever look right on his lips.

But looking at himself wasn’t why he had woken up so early today.

He dropped his hand and looked at his lap. In his other hand, he held a kunai, sharpened to the finest point just this morning. 

He had been planning to do this for awhile, nearly two months ago. He had woken up on the morning of his birthday, half expecting to see Kawarama leaning over him with an eager smile after he had come back from sneaking fresh sweet buns out of the kitchen.

Perhaps that is when it really had hit him.  _ His twin- his  _ **_best friend_ ** _ \- was dead and wasn’t coming back.  _

Tobirama recalled just staring at the ceiling as the realization hit him. Logically, he knew that his twin was dead and wouldn’t be coming back. He  _ knew  _ that but it seemed his heart had held out some kind of hope that maybe it wasn’t the case. But nearly a year after Kawarama’s death it was only starting to realize that his beloved brother wasn’t coming home. 

His eyes had stung then but when he raised a hand to his cheek and pulled away, there were no tears. It was as if they would not come. 

It had taken him later that day for him to realize why. Why Hashirama could shed tears so easily while he could not. 

It was in their weekly sparring match with their father and Tobirama had taken a good punch to his side. He had felt the tears from his eyes as he almost keeled over in pain. He blinked past them and continued fighting, barely catching the look of pride his father had in his eyes.

When they finished, Butsuma had pointed at Tobirama and said, “Take note Hashirama. The only time a shinobi should shed tears should only be in battle- when the pain catches you off guard. And even then it should be very little.”

The words had resonated in Tobirama’s head for the rest of the day. As they all went about their daily lives, with only Hashirama and a few others wishing him a happy birthday. It felt wrong to hear since he expected to hear Kawarama’s name mentioned after his.

It wasn’t until later that day, when they visited Kawarama’s grave did Tobirama finally figure it out. They had paid their respects and their father had gone home, leaving Hashirama and him. 

Tobirama had just stared at the grave. He was still puzzled why his father’s words from earlier that morning were still in his head when Hashirama had grabbed his hand. He tore his eyes away to look at his older brother, who was freely crying.

“It’s okay to cry,” Hashirama had whispered with a hoarse voice.

Tobirama had stared at him before he carefully rebutted, “Shinobi’s don’t cry... unless hurt in battle.”

His brother’s smile was bitter and sharp. “That’s what Otou-san has always taught us,” he agreed. “But he is wrong.” He looked back at Kawarama’s grave. “There is more than one type of pain. We are just taught to only acknowledge the physical one and ignore the other one.”

That’s when it hit. How could he cry when he couldn’t  _ feel  _ it? It was there, like it had almost been there that morning. But he was always taught to push it down and away.

He surmised that maybe with enough physical pain, he may be able to bring to surface the emotional one. 

He didn’t mention these thoughts to Hashirama, knowing his brother would throw a fit if he knew. So silently, he planned.

Honestly, it wasn’t that hard to come up with it. It had one within a day. But he had waited two more months for a very good reason. Why not do this on the day that Kawarama had died?

So that’s how he found himself, in the very early hours of the morning on the day of his twin’s death, sitting in his room with a kunai in hand.

As he stared at the weapon, he was surprised at how calm he was with what he was about to do. He felt that maybe should be a little scared, but perhaps it was because he had come to terms with what he wanted a long time ago that he had just accepted it.

He took a deep breath before he raised the kunai and placed it one of the edges at the center of his chin, right underneath his bottom lip. He looked at himself in the mirror to ensure it was perfectly centered and where he wanted it. He then tightened his grip on the weapon, momentarily pausing and bracing himself. Then with a quick flick of his wrist, he cut deeply into the skin.

He bit his tongue to stop from screaming out. He caught it in a loud and sharp groan as he slapped the fisted weapon to the ground and used his other hand to cradle his chin.

He bent forward, eyes wide and unseeing, as pain raced through his face. His mind was already trying to organize everything, confused as to why there was no enemy and trying to push away the pain.

That was the last thing he wanted.

He forced himself up to face the mirror again. When he pulled his hand away, the area was expectedly bloody. But he was happy to see it was deep, so deep that normal chakra healing would not do.

He didn’t give himself time to admire his handy work. It wasn’t something to be impressed with- he  _ had _ learned at a young age how much pressure was needed to slit a man’s throat, afterall. Instead, he raised his weapon again, grip so tight that it was turning whiter than his normal skin tone, and placed it on the right side of his face with the tip at his the upper part of his nose and the rest over his cheek.

He gritted his teeth and once again swiftly drew the blade deep into his skin. This time he forced himself to stay up and watched at the skin opened up to reveal blood and muscles. But most importantly, he could watch as his eyes began to become glossy and wet. 

“Stop it,” he hissed through clenched teeth as his mind and body tried to push the tears back. He  _ wanted  _ this, why couldn’t his own body and mind not  _ understand  _ that! He knew though he needed one more push for it to occur. 

He switched his weapon to the other hand and cut into the skin- a perfect match to the one on the other side of his face. He smiled in victory when the first tear finally escaped down his face. 

And just like that, the dam broke. It was slow at first with a few tears escaping here and there, but the more he stared at himself- the more pain and blood he allowed to flow forth- the more that cascaded down. 

He was surprised when his chest grew increasingly tight and it was becoming harder to breathe through his nose. He gasped loudly to try and suck in a breath but heard the broken sound of a sob came out.

The kunai slipped out of his hand and clattered to the floor. But he didn’t even notice as he grew in on himself with small tremors. His right hand gripped the fabric over his heart. 

“Is... is this the pain you felt?” he whispered with a clenched jaw. He wasn’t prone to acknowledging that he sometimes spoke to himself, but he felt it was okay in this case. “Did... did you cry when they cut you? When they killed you? Kawarama?”

His twin’s name came out as a sob. Tobirama bent fully forward, face bowed as he continued to weep. 

He closed his eyes tightly, ignoring the blood and tears that poured to the floor. He could see his twin’s face with his warm smiles and trademark scars. He could hear his laughter, his cries, everything- sharp and vivid in his mind. Especially on the morning Kawarama died. 

“It should’ve been me...,” he cried in a hoarse whisper. “It wasn’t supposed to be you...!”

He was supposed to go with a scouting party that morning but was suffering from heat stroke from the day before. He had tried to push through it but Kawarama had seen it and reported it to their father. Tobirama had been ordered to stay home while his twin had gone in his place. When he protested, Kawarama had just laughed and waved, saying he would be home the next day.

Another loud sob escaped his throat. “It wasn’t supposed to be you! It was supposed to be me! Why?! Why did you have to tell Otou-san?” 

He felt sick. He never wanted his twin to leave him. In all his dreams for the future, Kawarama was by his side. He was Tobirama’s buffer from the rest of the world. His shelter. Reminded him to eat, to come out of the library every once in awhile, or not push himself too hard in their training. People were easier to deal with as long as Kawarama was there. He  _ needed  _ his twin. 

_ But Kawarama wasn’t coming home. He was dead. And it was all Tobirama’s fault. _

He wailed.  _ It just wasn’t fair! _

He laid on the floor letting everything out. Because finally,  _ finally,  _ he could. He cried for his twin, for how unfair the world was, and even for Itama- for the little brother he failed to protect.

And even though he felt like a mess, it felt  _ good.  _ It felt  _ right.  _ Like he could finally breathe again- could  _ feel  _ again.

“Tobirama?”

Tobirama blinked hard through the tears and looked up. Hashirama was standing at the door a worried look on his face. 

When he saw his face though, his older’s gaze morphed into one of horror. “Tobirama!” He rushed forward and gathered the younger Senju his arms. 

“What did you do?” Hashirama cried, hands pressed against Tobirama’s cheeks as if to magically heal the skin there. 

It made Tobirama wince, forgetting that he had actually cut himself with how numb his face felt. His brother looked stricken but Tobirama found he couldn’t voice his thoughts, his mind blissfully blank. All he could do is cry- let the tears fall and heartbreaking gasps.

“Stay here,” his brother ordered, voice a tad high in panic, and then left, yelling for their father.

Tobirama didn’t have the energy to call and point out how pointless what his brother said was. Instead, he weakly fully sat up and looked at himself in the mirror again.

His face was an absolute mess with tears, snot, and blood. The cuts on his face were still bleeding but starting to crust around the edges. He thought about how he would look when they would finally heal and it made him smile.

Kawarama had always said that Tobirama was going to get a scar like his from a battle. He said he knew it deep in bones and that they would end up matching because of it. Tobirama had always scoffed at it and countered if he did get scars it would be a ritual scarification, like their cousins, the Uzumaki, did. Indeed, the markings he had chosen were actually traditional for all male shinobi to get at a certain age in that clan. 

Who would have thought they both had been right?

When his brother and father entered his room and whisked him away to the medical wing of the compound, Tobirama wasn’t sure if the voice in his head was from the blood loss that was causing onset delirium, or something else. But it sounded like his beloved twin, Kawarama, and was laughing in delight. 

_ “We finally match!”  _

**Author's Note:**

> Hope I did Tobirama's character right and I hope you all enjoyed. I enjoyed writing this one :')


End file.
